Emyn Muil
by ainur
Summary: *FINISHED* Set during Frodo and Sam's journey through the Emyn Muil. An unfortunate accident leaves Sam dependent on an unlikely ally, and may very well prove to change the outcome of the War of the Ring. Frodo-angst, Dark, AU, book-canon in nature.
1. Default Chapter

_Author:_ Ainur (ainur02@yahoo.com)_  
  
Title:_ Emyn Muil_  
  
Genre:_ Angst_  
  
Rating:_ PG-13 for dark theme. NO: Slash, sex, profanity, or violence in this fic._  
  
Disclaimer [this goes for every chapter of the fic]:_ I do not own anything, and do not make any money from this. All characters and settings are property of the Tolkien Estate. I only write fanfic for my own amusement, and hopefully I will succeed in entertaining others who share similar interests at the same time. Do NOT attempt medical remedies of any sort that are described in this fic, I am not a health care professional and have no idea what I'm doing._  
  
Summary:_ This is an AU fic that is book-cannon (for the most part) in nature. It's set during Frodo and Sam's journey through the Emyn Muil. There is an unexpected accident that could prove to change the outcome of the War of the Ring It begins on the afternoon of February 28th, the day that the hobbits meet Gollum face-to-face._  
  
A/N:_ I began this fic a while back, before seeing "The Two Towers", and have only just now resumed working on it while I have some free time. I was hoping to finish the fic before I saw TTT, so as not to allow the movie to influence the way I wrote the fic or the characters. Unfortunately thing's didn't work out that way, though I will try my hardest not to allow my viewing the movie to influence this fic. :) But, I do promise you that there are **no TTT movie spoilers** in this fic.  
The fic is mostly planned out (in my head) and the events will stay on course, in hopes of my completing the story sooner than previous fics I've written. :) It will also likely be shorter than previous fics I've written (I anticipate that it will be somewhere between 6 and 7 chapters).  
  
WARNING: Please be warned ahead of time that this fic **is** dark in nature, and **AU** as well. If you find AU or dark fanfics offensive or disturbing then this may not be the fic for you. 

With that said, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it! :)

Chapter 1: 

Frodo and Sam had endured two days of navigating the harsh terrain of the Emyn Muil. The two hobbits had been forced to tread a meandering path back and forth across the unfriendly, barren terrain. 

Though they were indeed hobbits, the two had wished on more than one occasion that they had brought shoes along on their journey. The rock-strewn paths on which they were obliged to walk were taxing on the soles of even the toughest hobbit-feet. 

It was now midday, on February 28th. Sam plopped down heavily onto a flat rock with a sigh, "Nothin' for it, Mr. Frodo," puffed the gardener, "my feet aren't gonna carry me one more step unless I've a rest and somethin' in my belly." 

"I know, Sam." Frodo agreed, seating himself down next to his companion. He proceeded to lift one large, hairy foot from the ground and begin rubbing it gingerly. "I'm tired, Sam. Tired and hungry." He sighed, "And I don't think we've come any further as of now than we had by this time yesterday!" cried Frodo. "We're lost." He shook his head in dismay, squinting as he scanned the jagged horizon for he knew not what. 

"Don't you be worryin' none now Mr. Frodo. We'll make it right, just you wait and see." Sam tried to comfort his master. He was glad that Frodo had followed his lead and agreed to take a rest. Sam had noticed with growing concern that Frodo had begun stumbling in his weariness. It seemed to him that his master was asleep on his feet. 

"Oh my feet hurt, Sam! And my legs too…" Frodo grumbled, leaning heavily onto Sam's shoulder. "What have we got to eat?"

"Well, Master, there's the Lembas the Lady gave us." The gardener offered, putting an arm around his tired master.

"Must we always eat those? Isn't there _anything_ else left?" Frodo asked hopefully, his wide blue eyes meeting Sam's calm brown ones.

Sam shook his head, "No, I'm afraid 'tis all we got. But they'll do better than nothin', no doubt."

Frodo nodded slowly, "I suppose you're right, Sam. We only need enough to keep us going until we reach the Mountain… and that is what Lembas are for… keeping a body alive, I mean." he let out a resigned sigh. After a moment he spoke again, "Well, are you going to give me one? Or do I have to run back to Lorien and fetch my own?" Frodo asked, a mock-indignant tone to his voice.

Sam grinned. He could feel Frodo's mouth curve into a smile against his shoulder, "Of course, Mr. Frodo!" He teased, rising from his seat to remove his pack. 

The two hobbits rested their tired feet and ate a very modest lunch of Lembas and cool water. Frodo and Sam were reluctant to start out again: they were so tired, and the rock-strewn road seemed now longer than ever. 

"Let us move on now." Said Frodo, "We can still cover a few more miles before dark, if we're lucky." He rose to his feet and hefted his pack onto his back again, ready to resume the trek. "One thing's for sure though," the hobbit said aloud, rubbing his calves again, "I'll sleep good tonight—Gollum or no." he jested.

It was clear to the two hobbits that their trail had indeed been picked up by something or someone. One who was both a skillful tracker, and determined to catch up with them.

Frodo then took off at a brisk pace. Both he and Sam were eager to get more ground behind them before the sun sank behind the jagged peaks. They hoped that, for once, some progress would be evident: a change in scenery, or even some signs of other life. It was very discouraging when day after day they hiked across the unfriendly terrain only to discover at the end of the day that they had made little or no progress toward their goal of finding a way out of the mountains. 

*****************************

After journeying the rest of the afternoon, and on into evening, they came to the edge of a sheer cliff. Frodo debated at length whether or not they ought to try and descend it. The lands beyond appeared to be gentler, as though this cliff may provide a way out of the Emyn Muil, whereas other paths surrounding him didn't look nearly as promising: rock-strewn and uneven, they were, and all appeared to lead deeper into the shadowy peaks on winding, forbidding roads that he didn't wish to tread. 

"Sam," he began cautiously, approaching the edge of the cliff with care, "I think this may be our way out." 

"You don't mean to… to climb down, do you Mr. Frodo?" came Sam's tentative answer. "It looks awfully steep, and a long way down, too. I dare not take another step closer to the edge." 

Frodo stepped away from the sheer, rocky edge, "Sam, this may be our chance." Frodo begged, "We must try. We've been delayed for far too long, we cannot afford to lose any more time!" 

Sam nodded. He knew Frodo was right. But, as is common among hobbits, Samwise wished to avoid heights whenever possible. "Well, I've some rope. I'd near forgotten about it!" he rattled in his nervousness, "It's Elvish rope, from Lorien, and right strong too. I believe a good length of it would support your weight, and mine too with any luck." 

"How far down do you think it is?" Frodo asked, stepping to the ledge again to gauge the distance from his current point to the rocky floor far below. 

"I reckon… well… it looks to be a good distance, Mr. Frodo." Sam replied nervously. 

"I suppose all we can do is let the full length down, and see how far it gets us." Frodo replied with a wry smile.

Sam reluctantly un-shouldered his pack and began rummaging through it for the coil of rope. Frodo stood by, gazing with uncertainty and mistrust at the distance he would soon be traveling, with only his grip on a thin line between him and the unyielding ground far below. "What else ought I do?" Frodo thought, "Gollum's picked up our trail, and every day wasted in the mountains is one more day for the Enemy to grow stronger." 

"Here it is," Sam pulled out the neatly coiled length of rope from the bottom of his pack. "Now, I'll anchor it real steady to that," he gestured to a jagged outcrop of rock rooted firmly in the terrain a few feet from the cliff's edge. "Be careful, Mr. Frodo. I don't know what we would do if somethin' happened." Sam fretted, "out here in the wild like this, and we've nothin' in the way of supplies…"

Frodo smiled warmly at his concerned friend, "Don't worry, Sam. I'll be as careful as I always am." He picked up the free end of the rope, and begun tying it around his waist. 

"Mr. Frodo, you best let me do it now, I know a wee bit more about ropes, I dare say." Sam smiled, taking the rope from Frodo's hands. He tied a secure knot in the silky cord, and double-checked its strength by pulling as hard as he could on each end. "Alright, that'll hold sure as anythin' will." He smiled shakily, "Now hurry up, before those clouds arrive an' make a mud-hole of this dry wasteland." Sam ended, pointing behind Frodo to the heavy clouds gathering on the horizon. 

Frodo turned, noticing the rain-laden clouds with despair. He only hoped that they would be able to scale the cliff and find some sort of shelter before the storm hit. 

Frodo patted Sam on the shoulder once more, and taking a shaky breath, he mustered the courage to lower himself over the edge. He scrambled for a moment, trying to get a good foothold on the ledge. Soon, he was easily lowering himself down the rock face, the rope held comfortably taut in Sam's strong grip. 

A hauntingly familiar cry rang out suddenly among the darkening hills. It froze Frodo down to the marrow, and his left shoulder throbbed with new agony. The shrill cry was, unmistakably, that of a Ring-wraith. 

The hobbit froze and pressed his body against the cliff, his vision faded. He could hear Sam above calling franticly down to him, but he couldn't find his voice to answer. Frodo's breath caught in his throat as he felt the knot in the rope begin to slip; he clutched at the rock wall for dear life. 

"Sam!" he cried, suddenly able to speak, "Sam! I can't see anything!" his voice quavered. He was dreadfully afraid. "The knot… it's slipping… I can't hold on!" he called. 

The wind carried away Sam's reply before it reached Frodo's ears. "I'm pulling you back up, Mr. Frodo!" he had said.

Alone in the blackness, Frodo was dimly aware that rain had begun to fall. It came down fast in sharp drops that stung as they hit his face and hands. He could soon here water flowing as it trickled through a thousand dark cracks and crevices in the rocks that surrounded him. His hands began to slip, and his feet slid from their hold on the slippery rock. The failing knot in the rope came completely undone. Frodo gasped franticly at the smooth rope, now completely slick from rain: it slid through his hands like soap. He hadn't even a chance to cry out for help before he felt himself falling. 

Frodo scrambled to find purchase on the wet cliff-face, to no avail. He winced as the knife-like rocks tore into the pads of his fingers, and even through the bottoms of his tough-soled feet, during his fall. Eventually, the rock-ledge gave way to open air, and Frodo fell rapidly the rest of the way down with nothing to break his fall. 

An anguished scream rang out into the darkness as he hit the ground feet-first.

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! :) 

Arien: I hope to get around to finishing "September" fairly soon. :) I don't get to post on FH as much as I'd like, but I do almost always read posts so that I can keep up with everyone! Thanks for your concern, I do apologize for not updating in so long. School and work have just been all over me since October, and I'm just now finding the time to write. I almost didn't post this fic at all, until I had completed it, because it's not right for me to start a story, and then leave readers hanging; but since I believe this fic is pretty well planned out, and not terribly long either, I felt that it was safe to go ahead and start posting it. :) 

* * *

Chapter 2: 

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried down the cliff. The wind blew rain back up into his face, and carried his voice away down the valley. He shook violently from fear. The rope had gone slack in his hands, and moments later a faint scream reached his ears.

Haphazardly, Sam took the Elven rope in his hands and began descending the cliff as quickly as his hands and feet could go, half-falling, half-sliding as he went. As he drew nearer the floor, he could see where the rock gave way to emptiness as though years of whipping wind had eroded that portion of the cliff.

As Sam continued his descent, he heard more crying, much softer than before, but pained. Carefully, he lowered himself down until he felt solid ground beneath his feet.

The rain was still coming down, but it appeared to Sam as though the clouds had lifted some. He could make out the form of his master lying sprawled where he fell.

Frodo had propped himself up on his elbows, and was clutching desperately at the ground with both hands, his breathing labored. "Sam…" he gasped weakly, "my leg, it hurts terribly." He cried. "I think it… I think it's broken." He swallowed hard, forcing down a sob.

"Easy now, Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered, patting Frodo lightly on the arm. He turned his gaze then on Frodo's legs. He could see clearly that the right foot was twisted at an abnormal angle: something was definitely broken.

"Mr. Frodo, we've got to get out o' this storm." Sam called above the din; "We'll surely be drowned in no time if this rain keeps up."

Frodo made no answer, it took all he had just to hang on to consciousness and not cry out, lest they should be discovered by a patrol of Orcs, or the creature that was stalking them.

Sam gave the Elven rope a gentle tug, thinking that surely it would hold fast to the rock high above where he had left it tied. To his surprise-- and chagrin-- it came tumbling down from above, every bit of it. Quickly he coiled it up and placed it back in his pack, he would speculate the cause of its fall later. The sturdy gardener lifted Frodo with little effort, careful of his leg, and quickly moved on to find some sort of shelter from the relentless wind and rain. 

After a short distance, he found a small alcove in the rock, just enough of a spot for the two of them to squeeze into and be out of the worst of the weather.

There was enough room for Frodo to lie down and stretch out, and Sam was quick to assist him in doing so.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Frodo." Sam rambled, removing his master's pack and balling his own cloak into a pillow for Frodo to rest his head on.

"Not your fault," Frodo managed through clenched teeth, "The knot…" there was a pause, and he shuddered as he sucked in a sharp breath, "the knot gave way. I don't know what happened."

Sam's heart fell at this admission on Frodo's part: he had tied the knot; it was his fault Frodo had fallen. But there were greater things to attend to at the moment; he had to see to Frodo's leg. Whoever was to be blamed was beside the point, it had happened, and now Frodo was injured. 

Frodo was pleased that his vision had returned, at least. "Sam, there was something… I—I heard its cry. A Wraith, surely that is what it was." He paused, trying hard to focus through the pain, "And… my sight failed. My shoulder…" a low moan escaped him and he was unable to continue as Sam laid hands on his aching leg. 

"We'll worry about it in a bit, Mr. Frodo. Right now just let me take a look at the damage." Sam gently began pulling up the right leg of Frodo's breeches, but stopped as the fabric snagged on something, simultaneously inducing a sharp cry from his master.

"Please don't touch it!" Frodo groaned, gripping handfuls of rocky earth as he tried to distract himself from the pain.

Sam said nothing, but pulled his sword from its sheath and carefully cut away the fabric. From what he could see in the dim light within their shelter, Frodo's right calf was covered in blood. His foot was twisted at an odd angle, and the jagged edge of white bone could be seen protruding from a gash midway down his shin.

"How bad is it, Sam?" Frodo whispered, unable to look for himself.

Sam couldn't speak. Suddenly he was dreadfully afraid for Frodo's life. He had heard tell of hobbits in the Shire who had survived such injuries, and also of hobbits that had not been so fortunate. Those that had survived had done so only with proper care and rest. Many had also lost limbs due to fractures of this nature.

"This is all my fault," Sam muttered under his breath, "If only I had tied a better knot, a stronger knot…"

A million thoughts flooded his bewildered mind as he spoke. There was no way they could take the required time Frodo would need to recover: they had to press on, time was already running short. Sam realized that he had nothing to clean the wound, little fabric to spare for bandaging, and naught to ease the pain for Frodo. "I mustn't panic," Sam set his resolve, "He needs me now more than ever."

"Sam…" Frodo's weak voice invaded Sam's troubled thoughts. "Sam… please, tell me… I wish to know, and be honest." 

Sam tore his gaze from the mangled limb to meet his master's wide blue eyes, full of fear and pain. "Mr. Frodo…" the hobbit began, "I… I've seen worse. The bone is… it's through the skin." He admitted with regret. 

Frodo's breaths quickened, and he struggled to raise himself to his elbows, he felt the need to see the damage for himself. 

"Shh… Mr. Frodo, don't struggle." He tried to ease his master. "I can only tell you one thing… I don't know much about this type o' break." He began, "But, me Gaffer, he taught me a little about binding broken arms 'n legs, but I never have…" he thought for a moment, choosing his next words carefully, "I haven't ever cared for one like this." Truthfully, Sam had never seen so terrible a break. He didn't believe that any locale in the Shire had a high enough point of elevation that could cause such a fracture if one were to fall. "The only thin' I know to do, is try to get your bone back… back where it belongs. Set it proper, if you will." Sam rambled awkwardly.

Frodo groaned. The pain was nearly unbearable as it was. He couldn't bear the thought of having someone set the bone. "So be it, then." He replied, "Have you anything to numb the pain?" he pleaded.

Sam turned to his master, heart heavy with regret, "I've nothin' Mr. Frodo. Nothin' to give you but a wad of cloth to bite down on." Answered Sam in a quavering voice.

Frodo swallowed, "All right, I suppose that must suffice." He could feel his courage begin to fail.

With trembling hands, he accepted a thick wad of rolled fabric, torn from Sam's tunic. "Sam, you should probably bind my wrists as well. I will…" he paused, fear setting in heavy, "I will fight you, if my hands are free." 

Sam shook his head, "I ain't doin' no such a thing, Mr. Frodo--"

"Sam, please." Frodo's eyes pleaded, "It hurts so badly… I'm afraid I will fight you." He begged, "Come now, there's no need in both of us turning up injured." He jested slightly, trying unsuccessfully to lighten the mood. "Please," he asked once more. 

Sam looked mournfully at the leg, and then into his masters pleading face. "Alright." He agreed, "I don't like this one bit, mind you." He gingerly cut a short length from the silky rope of Lorien. Very gently, he bound his master's wrists, and assisted him in positioning the cloth between his back teeth.

Sam then positioned both hands on Frodo's leg, one on either side of the break, and began to pull slowly in opposite directions. 

Frodo bit down on the cloth until he thought his teeth would surely meet. He was unable to stifle his cries as Sam continued to pull, gently and steadily, trying to get the protruding bone to return to it's place beneath Frodo's skin.

At quick jerk of Sam's hands, Frodo pulled hard on the cord that bound his wrists, and his back arched involuntarily. Never before had he felt such pain, and had his hands been free he felt that he surely would have turned on Sam with a speed and viciousness he hadn't known he possessed. Tears clouded his vision, and he screamed in agony as Sam continued to pull. 

Frodo sobbed with relief when the torture finally stopped. Sam had given up: the bone had been forced so far out from the force of impact, and the wound had closed flush around it. He simply wasn't strong enough to force it back into its proper place. 

Sam immediately turned his attention to Frodo; he unbound the wrists, now bruised from straining against their binds, and removed the cloth from Frodo's mouth. He tore off a fresh strip of material to wipe away the beads of sweat and streams of tears that covered his master's face.

"I can't do it, Mr. Frodo," Sam cried.

"Why not?" Frodo practically barked, in too much pain to care how he came across. 

"I'm not strong enough, I can't pull the bone far enough back… I can't force it back in place." Answered the gardener. He was beginning to panic. There was no help to be found out in the wild, no one to come to Frodo's aid.

Frodo broke down then, fresh tears forming, "This is terrible, Sam," he wept, his voice cracking with emotion, "I don't know what we shall do. I cannot walk like this, and yet we cannot be waylaid!" he sobbed.

"We'll think of somethin' Mr. Frodo," Sam promised, though he knew not what they would do. It appeared as though they were truly in a fix.

Frodo's leg had begun to swell, and the pain in it had only escalated since the accident happened. The ring-bearer could scarcely catch his breath it was so intense. Sleep wasn't an option, yet lying awake in pain seemed impossible to bear for very long. 

"I don't know what to do, Mr. Frodo," Sam admitted, "I can't help you… there is no one here to help you!" he fairly cried. 

Frodo shook his head, equally distraught. "I don't know, Sam. We'll have to think of something. In the meantime, I—I've got to… surely there is something that can be done for my leg." Said Frodo. 

"I've nothing, Mr. Frodo. These mountains are barren of any healin' herbs. I doubt even Mr. Strider could find a useful plant growin' among these hateful rocks." Replied Sam ruefully. 

Frodo nodded, "We should probably try to get some sleep for tonight then. There's nothing that can be done until daybreak in any case. Perhaps the morning will…" he paused as another wave of pain took him, "Will bring better fortune." 

"I can't sleep knowing you're hurtin' so, master." Said Sam, stroking back damp ringlets of Frodo's curls from his pale brow. "I've got to at least try to stop the bleedin'."

"Oh, Sam," Frodo groaned, "Please… please don't put any pressure on it." He begged, "It is painful enough as it is, without you pressing on it."

"I'll try to be quick then, Mr. Frodo." Sam promised, "But I'll not leave you in this mess for the night." He tore a fair chunk of fabric from the bottom of one of the legs of his own breeches. He folded the fabric carefully, regretting that it was so dirty, and poured a little water from his water skin onto it.

A sharp cry escaped Frodo then, followed by an unchecked scream. Tears ran down Frodo's pale face as Sam applied more and more pressure to the wound. He lost consciousness at that point, he felt faint and nauseated: he could feel his own bone pressing against the exterior of his calf, he felt the bone creaking in protest as steady pressure was applied and increased. 

Sam then bound the leg tightly, above the break, not so tight that it would prevent the flow of blood, but tight enough to slow it some, in hopes of reducing blood-loss. 

The gardener then removed Frodo's cloak and covered his body with it, tucking it carefully around his master's torn and bloodied feet. He curled up next to Frodo, in hopes of sharing as much warmth as possible so as to reduce the risk of shock. Sam knew that often times shock proved more fatal than the wound itself. 

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you all for the lovely reviews! :) I hope everyone is having a nice holiday and hopefully spending some time with family and friends.

Lotesse: Thank you for the review! Yep, Gollum is in this chapter, and will definitely be very important throughout the rest of this fic. :)

Daena Ness: A stab wound? Yikes! I've never had one of those, thankfully. I've never had a broken bone either. :) Sprains, yes, but nothing broken, thankfully.

* * *

Chapter 3:

Frodo was jolted from a light doze by a throbbing pain in his broken leg. He whimpered, and tossed his head to the side, seeking some sort of relief, but found none. 

His discomfort turned to fear when he heard a hissing sound from just outside of the shallow cave where he and Sam had taken shelter for the night. Frodo forced his hands to work and he drew Sting, holding the light blade aloft with a shaking hand. He was relieved beyond measure to see that there was no blue tint to its blade. Though, he could only begin to guess what other foul creature roaming the desolate mountains could have been drawn to their hiding place by his cries. 

"Yess, preciouss, nassty hobbitses sleeps here…we smells them, yess…" Came a hissing voice from outside the alcove. The drawn out words echoed in the hollow niche before giving way to eerie silence once more.

Frodo's eyes grew wide as he saw a skeletal hand feel it's way inside their hiding place. Soon, a slithery, slinking body followed the hand inside.

"Stay away!" Frodo called out, his voice sounding surprisingly pitiful in his own ears, and he struggled to back away. His heart beat wildly, yet he tried his best not to panic.

Moments of silence followed, and the gangly shadow shrank to the floor, lying in wait, or perhaps ambush.

Several minutes passed, and the shadow began to creep closer, eventually into a small shaft of moonlight.

Frodo knew instantly who this creature was. He had suspected as much from the thin, hissing voice alone, but after catching a glimpse of the pale, slimy skin and large, bulbous green eyes—reflecting light similarly to the eyes of a cat. This creature was, without a doubt, Gollum.

"Don't come any closer, or you'll meet your end!" Frodo threatened.

Gollum laughed, a sickly sound, "What'ss it going to do to uss, preciouss?" He paused to sniff the air, "We smells… we smellss blood, yess, yes we do. Hobbitses blood, my preciouss," And the creature continued to advance, "Nasssty hobbit is injured, we smellss it..." 

Frodo could now feel the slimy creature's breath on his face, and smell the stench of old fish on Gollum's breath; it made him gag despite his best efforts not to. He held Sting aloft, ever higher, and continued to threaten, though it took all he had to keep up a brave façade. 

The creature knelt, purposefully it seemed, onto Frodo's injured leg. The Ring-bearer faltered then, Sting trembled in his shaking hand and he lowered the blade. He focused on gripping a stone on the ground, and gripping Sting's hilt. Frodo breathed in sharply, prepared to strike at this foul, inconsiderate creature if it did not soon relent. He cried out in spite of himself when Gollum, reached down and twisted his left foot arbitrarily. 

Sam started from sleep upon hearing Frodo's cry. Immediately, he was aware of another's presence, "Get back!" he cried, drawing his own sword and holding it against Gollum's throat.

Gollum reached out a cold and clammy, yet surprisingly strong, hand and pulled Sam closer to him. "What'ss it going to do to uss, preciouss? We only wantss…we only wantsss the preciouss!" he hissed angrily, bearing down on Sam mercilessly. "Give it to uss!" 

The unsuspecting gardener dropped his sword in surprise, and yelped as Gollum pinned him to the ground and began gnawing at his neck with intent to kill. The wretched creature was surprisingly strong. 

Frodo clenched his teeth, and with great effort he rose to his knees, though his leg ached in protest as he shifted it. He somehow managed to position Sting right against Gollum's throat. Black spots danced in front of his field of vision, and his head swam. The blood he had lost earlier that evening had begun to take its toll. Frodo summoned as threatening a voice as he was able and addressed Gollum, "Let him go!" he cried, "You've seen Sting before, and you'll feel its bite if you don't release him now!" 

Gollum immediately relented, and scuttled to the farthest corner of the small cave. "Nice hobbitses, don't hurt uss. Mustn't hurt uss, no preciouss." He proceeded to hide his face behind his bony hands. 

"Why shouldn't I?" Frodo demanded, he had now risen, and was standing with all of his weight on his left foot. It was terribly painful, but he was surprised at what he had been able to do when the need arose. "Why shouldn't I slit your throat right now?" he demanded again. He was beginning to sway from weariness now that the initial rush of anger and fear had passed. He broke out in a cold sweat as black spots danced in and out of his vision, and he nearly fell.

Gollum whimpered and sank lower into the corner he was in, "Nice hobbitses…" he hissed, and then fell silent.

"Why have you been following us?" Frodo managed, "And what do you want?" he added.

"We wantss," Gollum began in a threatening tone, "We wantsss the preciouss!"

Frodo moved in closer on Gollum, pressing Sting's tip firmly to the pale throat, "You know these lands, is that not so, Gollum?" he ventured.

The creature on the floor groveled, backing against the wall as though he would have liked to have melted into it. "Yess... we knows the pathss, we knows the ways through His landss too, preciousss." croaked Gollum.

Sam was growing tired of the demented creatures reverie, and Frodo was becoming less-menacing by the second. "I say we tie him up to a rock outside, and let whatever wild thing that comes along tonight eat 'im instead of us!" he suggested, gathering a fair length of rope as he approached Gollum's trembling form.

"No... Sam, no. We can't do that..." Frodo begged, "We..." he paused, beginning to sway.

Sam regained his composure and quickly eased Frodo to the ground. "Master, your leg… just look at it. It's bleedin' worse. You shouldn't have tried to stand. Just look at this now…"

Frodo winced; he hadn't realized it in the heat of the moment, but his leg was pouring fresh blood. He closed his eyes tightly, and bit his lip until he thought it would surely begin bleeding as well. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said faintly, his senses failing, "I… he was going to attack if I didn't do something." 

"Nothin' to be sorry for, Mr. Frodo. Just you rest yourself now while Sam gets somethin' to clean you up." Sam busied himself in his pack. He soon pulled from the pack his last somewhat clean shirt, and tore another strip of cloth from his breeches-leg, soaking the fabric in water. "Hold on, Mr. Frodo. You've gotten the wound dirty, I've got to clean it."

Gollum peeked out from behind his hands in the corner, awed by the care the stout hobbit was displaying to his wounded companion. There hadn't been a time in his waking memory that he'd seen this unselfish kindness displayed to one being from another.

Frodo's sobs hitched in his throat as Sam carefully cleaned the injury. It wasn't helping, the blood continued to flow unchecked. Sam was finding it impossible to rid the wound of dirt, partially due to the fact that the fabric from his breeches _was_ dirty from his travels through the Emyn Muil. 

Frodo spontaneously felt extreme dislike towards Sam for inflicting such pain upon him; yet he felt extremely guilty for having such feelings at all. Sam was only trying to help. Dear Sam. "Where would I be without him?" Frodo asked himself, "You'd be lying drowned at the base of the cliff, or dead from your wounds-- whichever came first." he answered himself. 

"There," said Sam, "That's finished. I don't want to mess with it no more." And he secured his shirt around Frodo's leg to provide support and protection from the dirt. 

"You're so kind to me, Sam." Frodo muttered, "I'm so sorry to be such a bother." 

"Now, Mr. Frodo, don't you go talkin' out 'o your head now." Sam replied, helping Frodo sit up so that he could take a bit of water. 

Frodo gasped as his swollen leg shifted position, sending a new flare of pain up the affected limb, "Sam…" he whimpered. 

"Easy there, Mr. Frodo," Sam soothed, "Just take a bit to drink, and I'll leave you be…"

Frodo thought Samwise sounded surprisingly calm, but in fact Sam had taken great pains to school his voice so as not to frighten his master. He had certainly not forgotten about the slinking creature that had fallen suspiciously silent in the corner opposite the two hobbits. 

"Thank you," said Frodo, his wide blue eyes held Sam's gaze, gratitude and trust reflected therein.

"No need to thank me," Sam answered, "Let's get you set for bed again,"

"But Sam—" Frodo protested. 

"No 'buts' Mr. Frodo, you've got to rest." Sam chided. He could do no more for Frodo, at least not until morning. The wound would have to be cleansed with more water, and perhaps some sort of healing plant could be found and packed around it. Without care, infection would quickly set in. Sam didn't want to think about the possibilities; the presence of a severe infection would almost inevitably result in him having to cut his dear master's leg off at the knee… a likely fatal operation, as he had no way to stop the bleeding, nothing to prevent further infection, and nothing to give Frodo for pain. 

Sam's heart battered against his chest in fear at the thought of losing his master. How could he go on without Frodo? What would become of the Ring? These dark thoughts made him more homesick than ever, and made the task they had to complete seem all the more impossible. Samwise couldn't see himself filling the role of Ring-bearer; he wasn't like Frodo. He didn't think himself strong enough, or worthy of, carrying on this quest alone. If the quest were a pony cart, then he saw himself as the pony, and Frodo as the cart. Without the cart what's the need for a pony? He knew he couldn't be both; he couldn't fill both roles. 

"Sam, I… I can't sleep," Frodo whimpered. Though he was in fact very tired, the pain he felt removed any possibility of a decent rest. 

"Oh please, Mr. Frodo, for your Sam. Please try… you must save your strength." Sam begged. 

Frodo nodded, the action made his head swim again and blackness began narrowing his field of vision. He closed his eyes against the spinning, darkening world and dropped mercifully into a doze.

Sam now turned his attention to the slinking creature crouching in the corner.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Again I thank you all for the reviews! :) Nothing makes me happier than to know what other people think about my fics. 

Tangelian: Thank you for reviewing! :) I also can't wait for the next chapter of HOAH, I love that story!

Amrunofthesummercountry: I'm glad you like the fic! I agree that the movie made Gollum too pitiable; I'm trying not to do that for this fic. Gollum is all for himself, and he's a deceitful creature too, IMO. And his actions at the end of TTT (book) are just unforgivable.

Chapter 4: 

Sam approached Gollum with care. Strangely, he found that he felt more compassion towards this creature now that he was alone with him. His feelings were a mix of both fear and curiosity: he could still feel the place on his neck where Gollum's hands had gripped tightly; he didn't doubt that a bruise would result. And yet, how curious it was that Gollum had relented almost immediately upon being challenged by Frodo. 

"So," Sam began cautiously, "You're that Stinker from Mr. Bilbo's stories." He accused the huddling creature. 

Gollum made no response; he continued to crouch in the corner he had sunk into earlier.

Sam waited patiently before speaking again, "Well, since you tried to attack Mr. Frodo… an' you _did_ attack me, I'm going to have to tie you up for the night." Said Sam, "I can't have you wanderin' round here pokin' your nose where it don't belong." He advanced with a piece of rope in hand. With surprising gentleness, he took Gollum's wrists and bound them.

Gollum immediately began fighting Sam, "The rope burns uss, preciouss! It burnsss us!" he wailed pathetically, "Nassty, cruel Elvess!" he continued, "Their rope is mean to uss!" he hissed.

Sam didn't for an instant believe Gollum. He'd heard enough from Bilbo's tales to know how treacherous the creature could be. "Hush your fuss, Gollum!" he threatened, "I'll not untie you until mornin' so you might as well settle yourself down for the night, burnin' rope or no!" he said, "An' if you cause a ruckus and wake up Mr. Frodo, then I'll put you outside and leave your sorry carcass for the Orcs to find!" he finished.

Gollum wept quietly for the remainder of the night. He wasn't being deceitful; the rope _did_ burn him, yet he didn't dare challenge this cruel halfling. It seemed to him that the injured hobbit was much more sympathetic towards his cause.

For his part, Sam wasn't entirely heartless. He knew that this creature was just as far from home as he and Mr. Frodo, wherever home may be. He knew that, like his master, Gollum had been under the influence of the Ring. Suddenly he understood the pity Bilbo had felt for Gollum. He didn't like the look of this creature. But things, often as not, looked better in the light of day.

*************************************

The next morning Sam woke before Frodo. He stepped outside of their hiding place, but did not venture far for fear that his master would wake in his absence. Nor did he want to leave Frodo alone in the company of the slinking Gollum. 

His hopes of finding healing herbs waned when he took in anew the sight of barren rock, forsaken by any green life years ago. Helplessness was what he felt, and shame. He felt helpless to aid his master, as well as ashamed for not tying a better knot. 

Frodo woke regretfully, but to a familiar face at least. Sam sat by his master's side, stroking the dark curls soothingly as he waited for Frodo to open his eyes. 

"Hullo, Sam…" Frodo whispered, "Is it morning already?" he asked.

"Good mornin', Mr. Frodo. Yes, it's been light for a few hours now."

Frodo nodded, sighing with regret, "I'm so tired, Sam. If we could but stay here for a few days…"

"We may be, Mr. Frodo. I expect we will, like as not." Sam replied, "I don't know what we're going to do about your poor leg," he said.

"I know," Frodo replied quietly, closing his eyes again, "It hurts so much." He gasped as he tried shifting it, "I can't walk like this." 

Sam shook his head, "I know, master, I know. But I haven't worked out yet what we're going to do. I cannot set the bone, I've tried, and I doubt it'd be any easier this morning after it's had time to swell more." 

Frodo swallowed hard as he remembered the unpleasant experience from the previous night. He said nothing.

A scuffling noise from the corner brought Sam back to awareness. Gollum was gnawing at the binds on his wrists, spitting out threads in disgust as he went. It was quite a sight to behold, and had it happened under any less stressful circumstances Sam probably would have laughed in spite of himself. 

Frodo turned his head to the side, catching a glimpse of the action. A smile brightened his pale face briefly. He turned his attention then to Sam, "Let him go, Sam." He requested, "I wish to speak with him." 

Sam glared in Gollum's direction, mistrustful as ever of the strange being. Yet it was his wont to do his master's bidding, and this was no exception. Quickly, he undid the knots that bound the rope to Gollum's wrists. 

Gollum rubbed his arms gingerly, all the while glaring in Sam's direction.

"Gollum," Frodo called, his quiet voice contained an evident note of fatigue.

Gollum gave his attention to Frodo for the moment. Frodo: the master of his precious. He saw this as an opportunity to reclaim what was rightfully his, as long as he played along. All he needed to do was gain the hobbits trust, lull them into a false sense of security and soon the precious could once again be his.

Frodo continued then, "Last night, you said you knew these lands. Is that so, _Smeagol_?" he inquired. 

Gollum flinched visibly at the mention of the name _Smeagol_. "Yess," Gollum answered, "We know thiss land, and secret ways and pathss through the mountains that Orcs have not found; no, preciouss, they have not found the pathss we take." The creature rambled, "But nice hobbitses mustn't go there! It is treacherous, precious. Orcses and ashes!" He groveled. 

Frodo nodded curtly, ignoring Smeagol's pleas, "Then you will lead us into Mordor, Smeagol, since you know the way." He thought a moment before speaking aloud to no one in particular; "I understand Gandalf's words now that I see the creature." He mused, "I _do _pity him, and cannot harm him."

"Yess, yes!" Gollum chimed in, "We are miserable! Miserable and wretched, preciouss. Nice hobbits, be kind to poor old Smeagol!"

Sam was all but outraged, "How can you trust 'im Mr. Frodo?" he yelled, "After what he's done already! He'd kill us both in our sleep, and neither you nor I would be the wiser until it was too late!"

"I know, Sam," Frodo agreed, "Yet, I fear to let him roam free. At least if he is kept close by he can only work so much mischief." He rationalized.

Sam didn't find Frodo's comments very reassuring. It was common hobbit sense to keep danger _away_ from ones self, not invite it along for the journey! But he did respect his master, and admitted that Frodo likely had a greater knowledge than did he on the matter. Sam resolved to drop the argument. Besides, it may take two sets of arms to carry Frodo to Mordor at this rate! 

"He's mighty strong, this Gollum, Mr. Frodo." Sam pointed out, "Even though, I don't like the look of him… maybe he could set the bone back in your leg." Sam didn't at all trust Gollum to care for his master, yet it appeared as though the strength this creature possessed might be the _only_ way to save Frodo's leg. Sam realized that there weren't any other options available.

Frodo grimaced at the thought. He hadn't forgotten about his injury, but hadn't realized the dire importance of having the bone set properly before much more time passed. The longer the wound was left open and bone exposed, the greater the risk of infection or lack of blood flow-- which could result in the loss of the limb.

Sam gently laid hands on the swollen leg, carefully searching it for any change in appearance. Already it felt overly warm to the touch, which certainly didn't bode well in Sam's eyes. "Poor Mr. Frodo." he muttered under his breath, "I'm so sorry, sir." 

Frodo whimpered at having his leg touched, he felt nauseated at the realization that he would inevitably have to have the bone forced back into place, it was a matter of life or death. If only the circumstances had been different! Had he been forced to face this in the havens of Rivendell or Lothlorien with Strider or Elrond by his side, his spirits would have been much higher. But, out in the wild where there were no healers to be found and no way to properly clean the wound, the thought of having the leg set left him with feelings of foreboding and dread. Nonetheless, he nodded in answer to Sam's question; saying, "I suppose so, Sam. He _could_ do it, perhaps." 

"Gollum!" Sam practically shouted at the wretch cowering in the corner, "Come over 'ere, I need your help." 

Being obedient as possible, Smeagol skulked over to where Frodo lay.

"You listen here now, Gollum" Sam began, "You see my master's leg?"

"Yess, we sees it, preciouss." Replied Gollum. 

"Right. Now, that bone," he said, pointing the protruding matter, "it has to go back into its proper place. Do you understand?" Sam asked. 

"Yess, good Smeagol… never tricksess nice hobbits! Always helping, Smeagol is!" he replied.

Sam moved to Frodo's head and stroked back the dark curls, "You tell me, Mr. Frodo, if he causes you to hurt any worse than you already do!"

Frodo chuckled grimly, "I'm sure he won't hurt me any more than anyone else would, Sam." Frodo was well aware that this would be painful, and doubted that having Smeagol set the bone would be any worse than if Sam had done it. 

Gollum observed the injured limb for long moments before touching it. He had even less knowledge of healing than Sam had, the difference was that he, perhaps, was _physically_ strong enough to be of some help. 

"What'ss it going to do, preciouss?" Smeagol asked Sam, "Mustn't fight us, mustn't bite us, preciouss! Nice hobbit, Smeagol will not hurt nice hobbit if nice hobbit doesn't hurt Smeagol! Poor Smeagol!"

Sam nodded, understanding what the creature meant, "I'll see that he doesn't fight you. Just try to do this quickly, he's suffered long enough as it is. Go ahead now!" he directed, indicating to Smeagol that he was more than ready for this to be done. 

Sam then took both of Frodo's hands in his and gave them a reassuring squeeze, "It'll be all right, Mr. Frodo, you'll see." He tried to smile, "Your Sam won't leave you. It'll be over as quick as it's started." 

Frodo nodded vaguely. His face was deathly pale, and already beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow. His blue eyes, wide with trepidation and uncertainty, stared unseeingly into Sam's face, "Thank you, dearest Sam." He managed, giving the gardener's hands a firm squeeze in response, "I'll be glad once this is over." 

Smeagol, who was growing nearly as nervous as the two hobbits, gingerly placed a hand over Frodo's bone where it protruded about two inches from his leg. He grimaced at the sight of it, and made a hissing sound as he sucked air in through closed teeth. 

Frodo tightened his grip on Sam's hands and turned his face away, hoping not to see what was about to happen, and deeply regretting the fact that he would have to feel it, in full force.

Smeagol laid his other hand on the bruised, swollen flesh above the break in Frodo's leg, eliciting a low moan from the Ring-bearer, and in turn a clucking noise from Sam as he tried to sooth his master.

As carefully as he could manage, Smeagol began to attempt to push the bone back into the skin, quickly discovering that it was not as easy of a task as he had anticipated. He had to use a fair amount of pressure to get it to budge at all: the flesh around the bone's exit wound had swollen and the blood from the previous night had dried, creating a sort of seal around the exposed portion of the bone.

Frodo cried out and struggled to free his hands from Sam's grasp, "Stop!" he wailed, "Please, stop…" his voice dropped to a murmur, "Just leave it be!" Smeagol's ministrations revived afresh the torment he had felt when the accident first happened. Pain shot down his leg, to the very tip of his furry toes, and he could feel raw flesh and sinew ripping as the bone was forced violently back where it had come from, igniting a burning as it went. Frodo was too consumed with his own agony to care about what was best for him, at the moment he only wished for it all to stop. He groaned loudly and struggled to retain consciousness, all the while a feeling of nausea was building steadily in his chest. His breath came in short, shallow gasps.

Smeagol continued pushing the bone in as best he could, gripping tightly and pulling the bruised leg above the break to make room. 

Sam was beside himself; his efforts to ease Frodo had long ago ceased to have any effect on his master. An animalistic light had come into Frodo's eyes, and he knew only that he was in pain, and wanted desperately for it to stop. Sam, too, wished it could be ended; but he knew that Frodo's only chance at survival now laid in whether or not the injury could be healed quickly, successfully, and without further incident. 

Frodo arched his back and a scream tore it's way through his throat, "Sam!" he groaned, gasping to find breath, "Oh, Sam… please make it stop! Make him stop!" Frodo wailed, tears streaming down his face unabated. 

"Shh, Mr. Frodo…" Sam tried, "Just you hold on now, a little while longer and it'll be over." He used his own sleeve to dab the perspiration away from his master's eyes. Frodo's dark curls were now heavy with sweat and plastered to his tear streaked face. 

"I don't…don't want to wait… for it to b—be over," Frodo shot back. 

"Easy now, Mr. Frodo," Sam soothed. This was difficult for him to watch, as he hated to see his Frodo in pain. He didn't trust that Gollum was being as gentle as he ought to have been, but at least the creature was getting somewhere with his ventures. The bone was now almost back under Frodo's skin, almost returned to what could be considered its proper place. 

The flesh around the break was dark with bruises and crusted with blood and dirt, despite Sam's best efforts to keep it clean. Frodo had begun thrashing about shortly after Smeagol began to work. All fresh blood leaking from the wound quickly became a magnet for the filth lying on the floor of their hiding place. 

Frodo sucked in breath's rapidly through clenched teeth as he stared up into Sam's face through eyes blurry with tears. His small body trembled from pain. 

Sam continued to hold his master's hands, although Frodo was doing most of the holding at this point, almost painfully so, Sam thought. Frodo squeezed Sam's hands for dear life as he tried to distract himself from the torment. The gardener bent down and planted a small kiss on Frodo's brow. His master's shoulders then came off of the ground involuntarily as he struggled to rid himself of the agony he was in, and a long and sharp cry was released by the Ring-bearer, it tore through the silence of their small hiding place. 

At last, the bone disappeared beneath the skin on Frodo's calf, and Smeagol stepped back, wiping his bloody hands into the dusty earth. "Nice Smeagol! Always does what master asks!"

Sam nodded, grateful for Smeagol's help despite the fact that he didn't trust him. "There now, you see Mr. Frodo? I said it would be over soon." Said Sam.

Frodo released an exasperated sigh, which dwindled quickly into more of a whimper. "Yes…" he breathed, "Yes, I know, Sam. Thank you for helping me through it." He said, his voice weaker than before and somewhat rough from crying. Suddenly he felt the nausea that had been building in his chest begin to rise in his throat. "I—I'm going to be sick… Sam," he whimpered, rolling onto his side. 

Sam rubbed his master's back soothingly through Frodo's damp cloak as he wretched, bringing up what little he had eaten. "Easy now, Mr. Frodo, let it all up now…" Sam spoke softly, "Don't worry about anythin'," He soothed. 

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Wow! Thank you all for continuing to R/R my fic! :) I'm glad you're all enjoying reading it.

Chapter 5: 

Sam gently used a corner of his own cloak to wipe around Frodo's mouth after the sickness had passed. "Here, Mr. Frodo," he offered his water skin to Frodo, "Take a wee bit to drink, Sir. It'll get the bad taste out 'o your mouth." 

Frodo nodded, blinking fiercely to ward off the black spots that danced in front of his eyes. He received the skin from Sam gratefully and took several swallows of water. 

"Are you comfortable, master?" Sam offered, "Let me prop your head up, and I'll go out to find some more water to clean you with, since you've been sick and all." 

"No Sam," Frodo interrupted quietly, "Please don't trouble yourself. I'll be fine… it was just nerves that made me ill, and I didn't soil my clothes." He said, "I do wish I had something for my leg," he whimpered as the throbbing made itself known again, "I am grateful that the bone is…" he shuddered, unable to finish the sentence. 

Sam nodded, carefully pushing Frodo's bangs out of his eyes, "I know, sir. An' we'll stay 'ere until you feel up to travelin' further." 

Frodo shook his head, "No. We must move on, today if possible. Too much time, we have spent, in this cruel maze of rocks and debris. Is it noon yet?"

Sam stepped to the entrance of their hiding place and looked to the sky, "It's about noon right now, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo nodded, "Well, have a bit to eat Sam, and we'll be on our way. But, I'm afraid you'll have to help me. I cannot bear to put weight on my leg." 

"Of course not!" Sam burst out, "An' I'd never expect you to, in your condition, sir."

Frodo smiled to himself at this; he really couldn't ask for a better traveling companion. He knew he was in good hands with Sam looking after him. 

Smeagol, who had been largely quiet for a while, spoke up then. "Nassty yellow face, precious!" he hissed, "It burns uss, burns us like the rope! Nassty Elves!" he rambled.

"Smeagol, if you're to be our guide, then you must guide us." Frodo put in.

"Smeagol travels in the dark. Yes, precious, Smeagol knows ways through the dark." The creature answered, "We musstn't leave until the yellow face has left! Spiess will see us, precious, if we leave while the yellow face is in the sky." He added for good measure.

This disheartened Frodo. It would make for more difficult travel in the long run for both hobbits. Frodo and Sam couldn't travel nearly as fast after dark through the rocky terrain, not to mention that Frodo would be minus a leg, and Sam having to support him. But it couldn't be helped: Smeagol alone knew the quickest way to leave the Emyn Muil behind; and Frodo had to have assistance in walking.

"We've got no other choice then," Frodo replied to Smeagol's statement.

"I say we tie him up and leave him here for the Orcs, Mr. Frodo!" Sam argued, his feathers having been ruffled by Gollum's apparent inconsiderate nature.

Frodo winced at the tone of Sam's voice; his head was beginning to ache nearly as abominably as his leg. The last thing he wanted to listen to was Sam's irrational argument. "Sam…" Frodo began, "We have no other choice. He is to be our guide henceforward, and if he refuses to travel by day then we must travel by night." Said Frodo, "Now please, Sam, allow me to rest while I may. I suggest you do the same." He suggested. 

Sam, though not pleased to leave the argument as it was, relented and settled himself down for a rest on the ground beside Frodo. 

Gollum was left to his own devices as the two hobbits attempted to take a bit of rest before night fell. He passed the time quietly: too afraid to approach where the hobbits were sleeping, for fear of waking Sam and incurring his wrath. 

*********************** 

"Master," Sam gently shook Frodo's shoulder, "Master, the sun's set. Gollum says it's time we start for the evening." 

Frodo groaned as he woke reluctantly, the pain in his leg worse than ever. "What time is it, Sam?" he asked. 

"I don't rightly know, Mr. Frodo. But the sun set nigh on an hour ago." Said Sam.

Frodo nodded, "Alright. I suppose it's time I get up then." He said, attempting to rise to his feet. "Sam… could you, please… please help me. I can't…" he tried not to let frustration get the better of him. He couldn't rise without the use of both of his feet; or Sam's help, so he obligatorily choose the latter. 

"Of course, master," said Sam as he stood and took Frodo's outstretched hands in his own, pulling his master carefully to his feet—or foot, rather. 

Frodo gasped as his right foot touched the ground, sending a jolt of pain up the broken limb. "Oh…" he whimpered, falling against Sam for support, wrapping one arm tightly around the gardener's neck. "I don't know how far I can go, Sam." He spoke into Sam's ear, his weak voice shaking slightly. Already it appeared as though this would be more difficult for both than either of the hobbits had originally thought. The jolt of every step would likely send Frodo reeling from the pain in his leg. 

"We'll take it one step at a time, as me Gaffer would say, Mr. Frodo." he tried to sound encouraging, though he felt his courage wan as Frodo shakily leaned nearly all of his weight onto Sam. "Don't worry, sir." 

"Yes," Frodo said breathlessly, as though the mere action of standing had nearly exhausted him, "We'll take this slow, then…tell Smeagol not to get too far ahead." 

Sam nodded, and shouted a warning to their guide, "My masters still injured badly, Gollum, and don't you go jumpin' around on those rocks like a wild coney and make us hasten our way to keep you in our sights!" the gardener warned, "Or else I'll tie that rope back on your neck to keep you in check!" 

"Nice Smeagol!" said Gollum, already making his way outside of the alcove, "Nice hobbitses! Follow Smeagol, hurry now," he said, almost as though he were intentionally testing Sam. Smeagol felt safe with Frodo around, he knew the injured hobbit would only allow so much cruelty to be dealt out by the stout one. 

Sam's prediction proved true as soon as the two hobbits began to walk. Frodo's grip tightened around Sam's neck, and he leaned just a bit more of his weight onto the gardener's sturdy frame.

Sam held Frodo close as they began their journey, shushing him gently as each step brought tears closer to his master's eyes, and sometimes educed a short gasp or cry of pain. His leg jolted with every step, and the effort of holding it above the ground was almost too much for Frodo. 

Tears begun to well in Frodo's eyes as he realized how painful this was going to be for him, every step a painful reminder of his broken leg, every stumble by Sam would be an agonizing mistake felt by Frodo. The night was going to be dark and long indeed, as would every night for some time.

Despite the fact that he had rested rather well during the day, Frodo soon found himself bowing his head in weariness. The added weight of the Ring didn't help, as it drained his strength like nothing else could. 

"Could we take a brief rest, Smeagol?" Frodo called ahead to their guide.

"Yess… hobbitses aren't used to traveling at night so much as Smeagol iss!" he answered.

"Thank you," Frodo breathed a sigh of relief as Sam eased his trembling body to the ground, and propped his head up with his pack. 

"Let me tend your leg, Mr. Frodo," Sam offered.

"No, Sam. It's painful enough as it is." Frodo answered

"Please, master! It'll grow infected if you don't watch, then where'll we be?" said Sam.

Frodo sighed regretfully, knowing Sam was right. "Be gentle with it Sam." He warned.

Sam nodded, "Yes, sir." He said, and began rummaging though his pack for a scrap of clean fabric. "An' I think we ought to bandage it while traveling, so as to keep the dirt out!" he said.

"Yes, I suppose you're right again, Sam." Frodo admitted, resting his aching head in his hands as he sought relief.

Sam smiled gratefully. He might not be as book-learned as his master, but he had enough common hobbit-sense for the entire shire. 

Frodo clenched the earth in his hands and bit his lip as Sam began to clean his leg, picking at the raw, bruised flesh until he considered it clean. He then carefully wrapped a strip of cloth around the most damaged portion of the leg in an attempt to keep the wound as clean as possible. 

Sam didn't say anything to Frodo, but he fully intended on getting part of a Lembas wafer and some water into Frodo before they set off again. "Here, Mr. Frodo," he said, handing his master a piece of a wafer, "Let's eat now so we won't have to stop again later," he disguised his attempt with a package of reasoning that Frodo would likely accept. He fully intended on stopping later to allow Frodo a rest, and perhaps something more to eat as well. 

"Oh Sam," Frodo complained, "I'm so tired of these…" but he took the bread gingerly and nibbled at it. That alone was enough to please Sam. He took the other portion of wafer for himself, and quickly ate all of it. 

Frodo sat thoughtfully while the rest lasted, grateful for a break. Though his thoughts were not untroubled, it had now been a day and a half since his fall and already the leg was overly warm to the touch—he had elected to hide this from Sam for the time being, the younger hobbit already bore too much of a burden. It was swollen as well, which he felt was normal, yet the one thing he needed was impossible: he needed to be resting somewhere with his leg elevated, and drinking teas that took down swelling. 

"Let us be on our way," Frodo announced with great regret, "With any luck we'll get a few more miles behind us before sunrise."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I believe this fic is going to be just a bit longer than 7 chapters after all! Thank you all again for the reviews! :)

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Chapter 6:

Sam was relieved that Frodo had finally drifted off to sleep. They had stopped for the day four hours earlier, just before the Sun's yellow face had begun peeping over the eastern hills. They could perhaps have gone on for another hour, but Frodo had collapsed then with exhaustion and Sam thought it best to seek shelter as soon as possible, for his master's sake. 

It had taken the better part of those four hours before Frodo had fallen asleep. His leg had begun leaking fresh blood, and even after that had been dealt with the ring-bearer experienced chills that wracked his small body violently enough to ward off any hope of sleep. Finally, Sam convinced Gollum to search out dry bits of brush and small gnarled pieces of wood from long deceased trees that used to inhabit the lands they were traveling in. With those materials Sam had managed to get a small fire going for a brief amount of time. It was a risky venture, yet he felt that if Frodo were to be allowed any rest then something to ease his chills was in order. The fire had, indeed, helped some, yet Frodo's body still shook with chills, until his weariness finally won the battle and sleep took him at last. That had been only a short while earlier. 

Sam rose from his seat next to the dying embers of their small fire. The younger hobbit went to Frodo's side where he lay on a bed fashioned from his Lorien cloak, beneath a small outcropping of rock. Unfortunately they had not been lucky enough to find a niche in the rock as well-protected as the last, yet there was an overhang that had thus far effectively provided shelter from the elements and prying eyes as well. 

The gardener touched the back of his callused hand to Frodo's damp brow. It seemed that his master had a bit of a fever, yet it was nothing worth worrying too much about as of yet. 

Frodo stirred at Sam's touch, his blue eyes opening slightly to look into Sam's face. He grimaced immediately and put a hand to his head, "My head... it aches awfully, Sam." He commented, "Have you any tea for it?" he asked hopefully. 

"Now, Mr. Frodo, you know I ain't got nothin' of that sort out here." Sam replied, his voice heavy with pity and regret. If only he could do something for his master! 

Frodo groaned, dismayed at the response. He shuddered beneath the cloak Sam had covered him with, "Cold." He whimpered, his teeth chattering. 

He looked down sympathetically on his master. The previous night's journey had nearly done him in from what Sam could gather. "I know, master. An' you've a bit of a fever as well I'm afraid." Said Sam, "Would you like a bit of Lembas? Maybe somethin' to drink?" 

Frodo shook his head slightly, wincing as the ache in it intensified, "No thank you." He said, "I'm not hungry at all." 

"Alright, I won't press you to take somethin' you don't want," said Sam, "Is there anythin' else I can do then?" 

Frodo thought for a moment, his blue eyes focusing unsteadily on Samwise, "Ease the pain in my leg, maybe." 

Sam shook his head, "I only wish I could, Mr. Frodo." 

"It aches more right now than it did yesterday." He confessed, "I think it may be from all the walking. Yet it can't be helped." He said, trying to raise himself into a sitting position. 

"No, Mr. Frodo," Sam intervened, gently pushing his master back to the ground, "Don't you be goin' nowhere. If you need somethin' your Sam will get it."

"I only wanted to sit up, Sam." Frodo said indignantly, "I'm not a child." 

"I'm fully aware o' that, sir." Sam replied gently, "But you need to be restin' more than you need to be sittin' up worryin' about somethin' you can't control. Try to sleep more, night will come quickly and we'll be off again. Take some rest while you may." 

Frodo nodded, "I know, Sam. I can't sleep though..." he trailed off. 

"Please try, Mr. Frodo. You must take some rest." Sam chided. 

Frodo sighed wearily, the act of sitting up had made him realize once more how tired he really was, "Wake me when you wish to sleep, Sam." He said, his voice dying down to a murmur as he sank back to the ground. He curled onto his side, leaving his injured leg outstretched, and discreetly took the ring into his hand and gripped it tightly, as if somehow deriving comfort or relief therein. 

For his part, Sam had no intention of rousing his master before it was time to set off. Gollum had disappeared among the rocks just before dawn, and Samwise had seen naught of him since. "That Slinker's out stirrin' up more trouble, no doubt." He said aloud. 

************************* 

To Frodo it seemed like he had hardly drifted into sleep when Sam was by his side once more, gently rousing his master.

"Time to go, Mr. Frodo, night's come again. Gollum's waitin' on us." Sam called gently, smoothing back Frodo's damp curls. He was dismayed to feel that Frodo's fever had risen considerably since earlier that day.

Frodo's first thought upon waking was of Sam, "Why didn't you wake me earlier?" he asked, "You've gotten no rest today, and you must do most of the walking for both of us!" he cried.

"Don't you be worryin' yourself about me, Mr. Frodo." Sam promised, "I've taken as much rest as I'll be needin'. You need the extra rest, seein' as how you're carrying the Ring, sir, and you're hurt pretty bad too." 

Frodo was anything but pleased with this, but he had not the strength to argue, and even if he had, arguing would change nothing. He motioned for Sam to help him to his feet. 

Gently, Sam lifted his master from his resting place and draped one of Frodo's arms around his own shoulders.

Frodo cried out in spite of himself. His leg was terribly sore from the exertions of the previous night. He shivered as the chilly night air invaded his cloak; he pulled the garment closer about himself and tried to still his trembling limbs. He felt like he was about to collapse, and his stomach was churning even as he stood. 

Once in the moonlight, Sam could clearly see the pallor of Frodo's face, and the thin sheen of sweat coating it, mirroring the glow of the moon. "Mr. Frodo?" he asked tentatively. 

"I'll be all right, Sam," Frodo whispered quietly, his head bowed slightly. 

"Come hobbits! We must travel far yet before the yellow face returns. Many miles we have left to go, yes precious!" Smeagol called encouragingly. Even he could see that Frodo was genuinely hurt: Sam's concern for his master was ever growing, and Frodo's strength was ever waning. 

Sam shot Gollum a look of accusation, "Slow up, Stinker! Can't you see he's barely makin' it as it is?"

The accused had barely the chance to respond before a cry from Frodo captured the attention of both Sam and Smeagol. 

"Sam!" Frodo whimpered as he began to sag to the ground. His breathing was labored, and his face twisted in a grimace of pain. He groaned as both hands quickly found their way to a place above the break in his leg. 

"What's wrong, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, his voice full of concern. "What's happened?" he sank to the ground beside Frodo, tilting the ring-bearer's face up to his own. 

Frodo's eyes were wide with fear and pain as they quickly filled with tears, his lips parted, ready to give an explanation, or rather, to ask a question. He was about to answer Sam just as another cramp ravaged the broken limb. He bent his head over the leg, and groped helplessly at his knee as he sought relief from the pain. 

Sam immediately knew what was wrong, and he carefully pried Frodo's hands away and begun to massage the calf-muscle, attempting to rub the cramp out of it. 

Frodo leaned back on his hands, grateful for Sam's intuition. The brisk rubbing was painful, especially since it was just around the area of his injury, but not as painful as the cramping had been. "Thank you," he breathed with relief as the pain subsided. "I don't know what happened… I think it must have been brought on by all of this activity." He admitted. He felt like weeping, "If I could but rest, Sam!" he cried, "I don't know how much longer I can go on like this." 

"There, there, Mr. Frodo," Sam soothed, "Now just you wait 'till we get past these hateful mountains! The goin' will get a bit easier once we've a more flat surface to walk upon." He reasoned. 

Frodo nodded. The thought was a small comfort, but it was all he had at the time. He was weary with fever and pain, yet the night was young and not to be wasted on account of his discomfort. They journeyed on until sunrise without further incident.

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry for the delay in this chapter! I had writers block, which I haven't had since writing my first fic! Plus I thought for a good while about how to handle this story. It's running longer than I thought it would, but not by a lot. My problem was with how to keep the fic timeline at least somewhat in agreement with the book timeline. Just so you know, right now they are approximately half a day behind the books. They should be 1/3rd of the way through the Marshes, but in my fic they're only just about to enter them.

I hope you enjoy this chapter! :) It is a bit longer than previous ones, I believe.

------------------------------------------------

Chapter 7: 

On March 1st, after two nights of journeying with Gollum though the Emyn Muil, the hobbits could at last glimpse—not to mention smell—fog rising off of the Dead Marshes just as they ended the night's march. Neither Sam nor Frodo had spoken much during the night. Frodo was barely managing to stay on his feet, pouring all of his will into taking another step.

"Easy, Mr. Frodo," Sam said as he lowered Frodo's trembling body to the ground, "Sleep now, master. I'll keep watch." 

"But, Sam," Frodo whispered through chattering teeth, "You've not rested for two days… You must… you must rest." He pleaded. 

"I won't hear of it, sir." He answered firmly, "As it is now you don't look like you could manage another night, if you'll pardon my sayin' so, but it's the truth." He admitted. "Now you must take some of the Lady's lembas before you sleep." 

Frodo's stomach lurched at the mention of food. "I'm not hungry." He replied. 

"You'll at least have somethin' to drink then." Sam pressed. 

"I am terribly thirsty, Sam. I've got to have something before I dry up and blow away!" he laughed lightly. 

Frodo took the water skin from Sam and drank deeply. He was so tired, and wanted nothing more than to be left alone to sleep. 

Sam put the back of a hand to Frodo's forehead; it was still quite warm. "And your fever's none better neither." He fretted. 

Frodo shivered as another chill took him. "I know," he said quietly, "There's nothing that can be done for it though." 

"Well, you can at least stay bundled up." Sam pointed out, "You'll take both of our cloaks again, and wrap up real good." He insisted. 

Sam was very much concerned that this fever was connected to Frodo's injured leg somehow, and he thought as much of the cramp his master had experienced the previous evening. He knew if was correct in reading the symptoms, they boded ill. "How's your leg, Mr. Frodo?" he asked. 

Frodo looked up hesitantly, "It's at least as bad, Sam. No better." 

Sam eyed his master then with new concern, "I mean, has it been cramping any more? Anythin' of the like?" 

Frodo turned his eyes away before answering, "Nothing worth mentioning." He answered, pulling the cloaks closer around him as he settled in for a rest. 

Sam didn't push Frodo any further, but didn't let his master's comment go unnoted either. He would perhaps pursue a more complete answer after Frodo had taken some rest, and hopefully something to eat. 

***************************** 

Gollum had slunk off to a crack among the rocks, close to where the two hobbits rested, that was better protected from the cruel sunlight, and close to a shallow pool where he hoped to find a fish or two, if luck would have it. The foul bread that the hobbits were living on was nothing he wanted to touch: the Elves had made it. 

He mulled over in his head what his best course of action would be. It was clear that the injured hobbit, the Master of _his_ Precious, was falling ill. Gollum hoped it would claim him quickly, so he could regain possession of his Ring. Yet, he couldn't help but wonder what the stout hobbit, the gardener, would do. He appeared to be rather loyal; both hobbits had exhibited great dedication to their cause. Would he journey on in Master's stead? Could he be dissuaded? Perhaps… could the Precious be taken from him by force? "No, he has nassty cruel blades, Precious." Gollum thought aloud, "He'll ssting us, Precious, hurt us, he will! Nassty cruel hobbit!" 

Maybe, if he didn't stray from the hobbits by day, he could gain the trust of even the stout one. He had considered it. The Master, the one called Frodo, had displayed to him both tolerance and kindness. Perhaps he _could_ gain their trust. But, if illness should claim the Ring-bearer's life, then Gollum would be left at Sam's mercy: a position he didn't find favorable if things stood as they were now. 

He remembered that, if all else should fail, death _would_ dissuade them both. 

********************************** 

The mid-day sun rode high in the sky; and a gentle wind blew through the rocky terrain, whistling mournfully as it went, bringing with it the foul reek of the Marshes. 

Frodo stirred from an uneasy sleep, roused by an unpleasant feeling of expectant tension in the calf muscle of his injured leg. Since the original cramp on the previous night, the feeling of tension had not dissipated completely, and now it seemed to be building. 

Frodo shivered as a stray breeze rushed past; he suspected that his fever was still no better. Carefully, so as not to disturb his injury, he wrapped the cloaks tighter around him. He squinted out into the daylight: Gollum was nowhere to be seen, and Sam had fallen asleep only a few feet away. Frodo was relieved to see that his friend was at last resting; he didn't know how Sam had managed to go on without rest as long as he had. 

He gasped in surprise as his calf muscle tightened uncomfortably, gradually the tension increased, and spread up to the thigh of his injured leg. Soon the whole leg was consumed with a painful muscle spasm. Frodo sat up as quickly as he could, and struggled to move up against the wall behind him for support. He pressed his back into the rock wall with all his strength, struggling not to cry out from the pain. 

His breath began to come in shallow gasps as the pain escalated, he arched his neck back and bit his lip in an attempt to keep silent, his small features twisted in pain. The thick dark curls that framed his youthful face soon hung heavy in damp ringlets. A quiet moan escaped him then, more from fear than from the pain. He couldn't understand what had brought this on, and why it would not relent. 

Almost immediately after that thought had entered his mind, his pain began to lessen and the tension eased a bit. Frodo gasped in relief, grateful tears filling his eyes. He allowed his head to fall heavily into his hands as he recovered from the spell. 

Grateful he had not woken Sam, he sank back to the ground as weariness overcame him. 

************************** 

Sam started from sleep, realizing with shame that he had somehow drifted off and left his master vulnerable. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he saw that it was late afternoon: the sun was just beginning its descent, eventually to drop out of sight below the western skyline. 

He then looked over to where he had left Frodo sleeping, presumably hours earlier. To his horror, Gollum was standing over Frodo's unmoving form, his back turned to the gardener. 

"Hi! Stinker!" he called franticly, "What do you think you're doin'?" Sam was immediately on his feet, and had bridged the distance between himself and the slinking creature in about two steps. 

"Nice hobbit…" Gollum whispered, "Don't wake the Master!" he admonished, "Ssick, he is." 

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, cold fear filling his heart. 

"Master is sick, we saw him earlier… crying over his leg, precious." Gollum had been watching Frodo's earlier struggle from his place among the rocks, across from where the hobbit's slept. 

Sam barely heard Gollum's reply. He pushed the creature out of the way and quickly went to Frodo's side. He laid a hand on his master's damp brow. It was burning with fever. 

"Sam?" Frodo whimpered upon feeling his servants touch, his eyes opened slowly, taking in the sight of a blurry Samwise. 

"It's all right, Mr. Frodo," he soothed, "You're ill." 

"I… I don't know what's wrong with me." Frodo breathed in answer, closing his eyes once more. 

"I suspect it's all the walkin' you've had to do." Sam answered regretfully, knowing that the activity couldn't have been avoided. Injured or not, they had to keep stumbling on toward Mordor. 

"I don't think it's that, Sam." Frodo admitted, "My leg has still been cramping awfully bad. I thought it had gone away but… it returns again and again. I…I don't…" he broke off, not knowing what else to say. 

Sam regarded him with concern. "Are you in any other pain, Mr. Frodo? Does any place other than your leg hurt?" 

Frodo avoided Sam's gaze, his breathing became more labored as another spasm of pain shot through his calf and thigh. He clenched his teeth, sucking in a sharp breath, and closed his eyes against it, gripping Sam's shirt in his fists. Tears dampened his grimy cheeks despite his best efforts to contain them. "It is difficult to talk, Sam… I'm all stiff." He admitted pointing to his jaw, shivering violently through another bout of chills. 

Sam knew what these symptoms meant. Though it was a rare disease in the Shire, occasionally a hobbit would come down with this ailment after a farming accident, or an injury that had been left untended for too long. In this case, the inattention was inevitable, Sam had done all he could, given the circumstances, and yet Frodo had still not been spared. He had to remain calm; it was up to him now to hold things together. 

"Alright then, master," Sam began, stroking Frodo's dark curls soothingly, though he found himself unable to finish his sentence, for he had nothing to finish it with. He didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could do for Frodo; nothing but wait for the inevitable to happen, he swallowed hard at the thought of it. "This is all my fault!" he burst out, tears starting in his eyes, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Frodo…" 

"How is it your fault, Sam?" Frodo asked earnestly, putting a hand on Sam's arm, "Nothing could have prevented my fall. The rope slipped… it was wet, I couldn't hold on." 

"No," Sam said, sniffling a little and shaking his head in denial, "No, I should have tied it better, Mr. Frodo! I should have tied a better knot!" he cried. 

"Sam, this is not your fault." Frodo tried to console his friend, "It was an accident, and things of this nature happen from time to time… it is the way of life." 

"Don't matter, Mr. Frodo." Sam continued, avoiding his master's gaze, "It don't matter, because now you're ill with that… that…" he refused to speak the word, for fear that it would hasten the disease's progress; or instill glee in Gollum's twisted heart. 

"Sam, that's not true." Frodo replied, "Maybe that's not what it is." Though even as he spoke, the soreness in his jaw, and his stiff neck told him otherwise. 

************************* 

Sam took his master's hand in his own and patted it soothingly, whispering reassuring words into his ears, as Frodo endured another fit of cramps. 

Sam could almost hear Frodo's teeth clenching together as the muscles in his jaw contracted, and the calf muscle of his broken leg remained rigid to the touch. 

Frodo's eyes flew open, full of fear as he turned them on Sam in search of reassurance, he whimpered helplessly through clenched teeth, and tried to cry out. 

"I'm here, Mr. Frodo, an' I won't leave you for nothin'." Sam promised. 

No sooner than it had begun, the spell was ended. 

"We must move on, Sam." Said Frodo, breathing heavily, "It's already dark," he said. He wanted so much just to lie where he was and sleep, yet it wasn't possible. 

Sam was reluctant to let Frodo travel in this state, yet he knew they had to continue on as long as they possibly could.

"Well you'll at least let me dress your wounded leg before we go." Sam announced, not giving Frodo a choice in the matter. "An' take some lembas too," he said, holding out a portion of a wafer for Frodo to take. 

Frodo took the small wafer of lembas from Sam and bit off a corner, chewing carefully with stiff muscles. 

Sam gently pulled the old makeshift bandage from Frodo's leg. To his relief, no more dirt had made it's way into the cut, but the wound itself wasn't faring well at all. Though it did show signs of closing, it was swollen and pink, as well as hot to the touch. He clucked his tongue at seeing this; he may have to find some way to drain the infection if too much built up. 

Of course, soon enough that would not matter anymore. Sam struggled to hold back the tears that wanted to come. He had to hold himself together for his master's sake, as well as for show: he didn't want Gollum knowing what it was that ailed Frodo. He suspected the slinking creature already knew more than was good for him. 

Sam carefully tore a strip of fabric from his spare shirt, and wound it tenderly around his master's wounded leg. "So fast," he muttered under his breath, "It happened so fast." Frodo had fallen only three days ago, and the bone had been exposed for less than one, and already this affliction was working its cruel will on his master. Each painful episode wore him down faster than even the Ring could ever hope to. 

Sam helped Frodo rise, and supported most of his master's weight as they began the night's journey. "We're almost to that stinkin' Marsh now, Mr. Frodo." Sam commented. He didn't anticipate that the going would get any easier for either of them.

TBC...


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: 

Cynical Flame: I think you have probably guessed what's wrong with Frodo now. It _could_ result in lost limbs, I suppose. But it can also result in worse things. 

ThE iNsAnE oNe: I can't promise. ;) But don't worry too much! I'm not cruel, after all… well, I'm cruel to Frodo sometimes, but that's different. 

Zorra: Yes, it is very hard to cure, or so I've read. Even with today's medical techniques, it's still a serious illness. Luckily, we can prevent it these days. 

NarsilC: Thank you! I don't think I've seen this particular illness done before, but I could be wrong. I always try to look for illnesses different or unusual to force upon the poor hobbit. 

And, before I continue with Chapter 8, I must ask that you don't kill me! *cowers in fear of readers*. Nice readersss… ;)

  
Chapter 8: 

The night's march was almost over, and the three weary travelers had already journeyed nearly half the distance across the Dead Marshes. The soggy terrain of the foul bog had slowed their progress further and made things doubly hard for both Sam, and especially, Frodo. 

For much of the night Sam had found himself, and Gollum, practically having to carry the ill ring-bearer. Several times each hour his body had been gripped with muscle spasms, they had been increasingly severe with each spell. They were unpredictable and ended relatively quickly, leaving Frodo's muscles rigid to the touch and painfully stiff. 

"Come on, Mr. Frodo," Sam encouraged his master, "Just a few more hours and it'll be dawn, you can rest soon." 

"No… S- Sam," Frodo slurred as he stumbled and began to fall, his head drooping listlessly. 

Sam rushed to provide extra support for his master. "Easy, Mr. Frodo. Careful now…" he whispered. 

A choked cry from Frodo told Sam that it was happening again. His master's legs gave out fully then, and Sam carefully lowered his body to the ground. 

Frodo's breaths quickened, and his eyes grew wide with fear and pain as another spell came upon him with a vengeance. "Sam…" he breathed, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping at the damp earth beneath him as his body stiffened painfully. 

Gollum sensed that he was no longer being followed by the hobbits, and turned around to see Frodo lain out on the soggy ground of the Marsh, his small body contorting with muscle spasms and faithful Samwise kneeling at his side. The creature changed direction then and headed back to where the two had stopped. 

Sam glared up at Gollum, always ready to blame him for whatever ill befell the trio, this time his fault would surely be with the pace of travel set by Gollum. His attention was turned back to his master as Frodo let out a quiet groan, his hand searching for the familiar comfort of Sam's. 

"They're growing worse, Sam," Frodo managed, "They're pulling me apart," he whimpered, his neck craning back. His grip on Sam's hand tightened involuntarily, the muscles in his arms contracted forcefully, causing the arms themselves to curl inward as though he were flexing his muscles. 

Sam winced, jerking his hand free of Frodo's as the grip tightened. "Mr. Frodo!" he cried, "What can I do? How can I help?" he took his master's face in his hands, and gently brushed back the dark ringlets of damp hair. He used his sleeve to dab at his master's sweating brow. 

Frodo's fists were white knuckled, and his back arched slightly. His facial muscles tightened as well, pulling his lips back, forcing his mouth into a slight grimace. He cried out through clenched teeth as the pain continued relentlessly, tears seeped from beneath his closed eyelids. 

Sam did all he could, though it wasn't much, and served only to increase his feeling of helplessness. He knew very well what it was that ailed Frodo now, and that there was no way to stop it, and no way to treat it. The symptoms were progressing at an alarming rate, he thought, one that could only be attributed to lack of rest and proper care for the infected wound on his broken leg. 

Frodo's throat seized, he panicked as his air supply was cut off. He could not swallow, nor could he breathe. His eyes flew open wide, a chilling flash of blue in the dusky gloom of early morning. No part of his body would work; all he could do was lie there as his own body suffocated him. He could not even cry out for help that was not to be found. 

Sam noticed quickly that his master had ceased to breathe. He looked down at Frodo, into the wide blue eyes fraught with fear and suffering. "Mr. Frodo!" he practically screamed at his master, "Mr. Frodo, please! Please breathe, you must… oh, me dear, you mustn't leave your Sam!" He wept, gently shaking Frodo's shoulders to no avail. 

Gollum, too, grew concerned at the commotion; he came to kneel beside Sam over Frodo's body. He knew not how to help the suffering hobbit. 

At last, Frodo's airway cleared again, and the painful spasms ended, leaving his body stiff, but free from further torment. "Sam," he gasped, speaking with difficulty as his jaw refused to function properly, "I can't go on, Sam…I'm so weary, and…and the ring is such a burden." His eyes slipped closed then. Frodo gasped as he tried to shift position, finding it nearly impossible due to his sore and unyielding muscles. 

"Don't worry, sir, we ain't leavin' 'till you're ready. I don't care if we 'ave to stay 'ere for a whole 'nother month!" Sam answered. 

Frodo chuckled grimly, "Dearest Sam, you can't linger here." He paused, gathering more energy to speak, "You must go on, and…" he stopped, emotion closing his throat, "You must complete the quest." He stared intently into Sam's eyes, hoping to convey the seriousness of his statement. 

The words hit Sam like a rough blow, and his heart smarted at the sound of them, "Oh no! I'll not leave you here, Mr. Frodo!" he answered, angry at his master's lack of determination. "Never, Mr. Frodo, never. I'd lay down an' die before I'd leave you." 

Frodo exhaled sharply, "Sam… you cannot stay. You must…" he paused, he could almost feel another spell coming on, "You must complete this task." He finished hurriedly, his eyes reflecting the determination his voice wasn't able to muster. 

He didn't blame Sam. How could the gardener possibly understand this? How could he know? Frodo knew he was dying. He'd taken his last step towards the Mountain of Doom; his exhausted body could carry him no further. 

Frodo's head fell to the side, he panted for breath as he felt pain returning anew to his heavy limbs. He shuddered at the force of the spasms as they wracked his slight frame mercilessly, and a single sob escaped him. 

Sam gently pulled Frodo's upper body into his lap. He cradled his master's head, and gently rubbed his shoulders as the toxin flowing through Frodo's veins ravaged the ring-bearer's body once more. He could feel sweat from Frodo's body soaking through his master's cloak, and into his own clothes. 

************ 

All that day none of the three travelers had any rest. Sam sat as he was, cradling Frodo in his arms as best he could, wishing more than anything that he could somehow ease the others pain. 

Frodo dozed fitfully between spells, as the muscle contractions grew in intensity and endurance and the day dragged on. He had only managed to take a few sips of water that Sam had forced on him around noon. 

Gollum sat close by; seeming to sense what was at hand. Already he was missing the presence of the one person he'd met that understood his plight to a certain degree. He was beginning to feel rather guilty for wishing death speed. Clearly it already had enough. 

Upon the most recent spell, Frodo had screamed in agony as the muscles in his back caused his spine to bend and arch. Sam had heard and felt the sickening sound of bones straining and sinew struggling at its bonds, betrayed by the very muscles that supported it. The ring-bearer dug his bare heels into the soggy earth as his leg muscles contracted painfully. Frodo spoke no word, but reached up with difficulty and wrapped his own arms around Sam's as best he could. 

Sam clutched his master close now, as if his care for the other could ward off death itself. Though, even his unquenchable spirit was beginning to falter. 

Frodo stared blankly ahead, enjoying a brief moment free of wrenching pain. His face was ashen, and slick with sweat. Dark circles underlined his eyes, half-lidded in weariness. Every breath was a new struggle; one he didn't know if he wanted to continue to fight for, as fighting only delayed the inevitable. He needed to talk to Sam soon, as well as Smeagol, before it was too late. 

He stirred slowly in Sam's arms, turning his head with difficulty to look into the face of his faithful gardener and dear friend. 

"What is it, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked quietly, in a tone of voice he might have used when speaking to a sick child, "Has the pain grown worse again?" 

Frodo moved his lips wordlessly, willing his voice to work for just a while longer, "S…Sam, I need to talk to you… before it is too late." Frodo confessed. Trembling as a chill breeze rustled his curls. 

"Of course, sir." Sam answered gently, struggling to keep fear from seeping into his voice. "Tell your Sam now…" he stroked Frodo's bangs soothingly. 

Frodo smiled up weakly, "Sam, you must…must promise me that you will complete the quest." Said Frodo earnestly, "Everyone is counting on you. An—" he choked as his vocal cords seized briefly, "And… you must not fail. You shall carry on in my stead. I name you the new ring-bearer." He finished, his fever bright eyes shining up at Sam through the mist of the bog. 

"Oh…" Sam breathed, "Oh no, Mr. Frodo. I can't possibly. I can't," he argued, "Not without you. I ain't brave like you." 

Frodo couldn't help but smile at his friend's words, "Sam you're wrong, so wrong. You don't even see… you—you're the bravest hobbit I know." He clutched the gardener's sturdy brown hand in his slender pale one. "You can—you will—do this Sam. I can think of no one better suited for the job. Now please… help me get this chain off." 

Sam bit back a sob, his poor master. Gently he lifted Frodo's head from the ground, slowly so as not to bring on another spell. He found the clasp on the chain bearing the ring, and carefully undid it. He lifted it away from Frodo's ashen form, and watched, momentarily fascinated, as the light glinted off of the trinket's polished surface. 

"Put it on," Frodo's weak voice broke the spell. He regretted to see it pass into another's hands, yet there was no other choice. 

Sam nodded vaguely, placing the chain around his own neck and fastening the clasp. He immediately felt the weight of it bear down on him. He felt pity and admiration anew for his poor master. He had continued to bear this weight, without complaint, until his own life was on the verge of ending. 

"And you must promise me, Sam," Frodo interrupted the gardener's thoughts again, "You must… promise me that… that you will leave now. Do not wait for death to claim me, precious time is being wasted even as we sit." Frodo argued, his eyes pleading with Sam. 

"I'll not leave you, sir. I'll not leave you now." Sam insisted. 

Frodo sighed regretfully; he should have known Sam would be stubborn about this. He didn't want the younger hobbit to witness his death. He didn't want Sam to be eternally haunted by visions of his master's last painful breaths. "Please, Sam… go. I will not get up again… I am so tired, I cannot take another step." Frodo pleaded, "You mustn't wait." 

Sam shook his head vehemently, "No, Mr. Frodo. No. I'll not leave you, not now, not now when you need me the most." Sam finished, his voice cracking at last with emotion, as the realization of what was happening began to sink in. 

"Very well," said Frodo, "It does not please me that you would stay, but I cannot stop you." He paused then in thought, "But you _must_ promise me at least this much. Promise me that you will not linger here after…" he swallowed hard, dropping his voice, "Do not linger after I am dead." He looked earnestly into Sam's face. "Take my belongings; you may need them yet—" 

"No, Mr. Frodo!" Sam interrupted, "I will not!" he cried. 

"You must. The enemy may find them…" Frodo reasoned, "Then we will be ruined. All our sacrifice will have been in vain. All will be lost." He paused again in thought, "Take Sting, and my Mithril coat, and the Lady's phial. Take my rations, as well as my cloak…" he pleaded. "Promise me, Sam." 

Sam stared into his master's face for a long moment, his warm brown eyes full of tears, "I promise, Mr. Frodo." He sobbed quietly. "I promise I'll do as you ask, sir," 

"There's a good lad, Sam." Frodo managed a smile for his friend, "And do not waste time burying me," he spoke with difficulty, "Roll me into the water, and leave no evidence of our time spent here." 

Sam gasped at this notion, "But, Mr. Frodo!" he cried, "I… what would the others say when I tell them!" 

"Sam, worry not what they may think, for they will think nothing if you do not succeed, and you will be a hero if you do." Frodo tried to convince his friend. 

Sam wept quietly by his master's side, not knowing what else to say. His dear Frodo was asking of him something harder than the task that lay ahead. It would be a long dark road without his master's company; made darker still by the nature of Frodo's death, and the gaping hole the loss would leave in his heart. 

"Sam," Frodo's quiet voice invaded Sam's mournful thoughts, "Please fetch Smeagol, I wish to speak with him as well." 

"That Stinker oughtn't be 'round here with you in your condition!" Sam practically growled. 

"You must go with him. He knows the way into… into Mordor, Sam." Frodo whispered, beads of perspiration glistening on his face as he tried to hold off the next spell that he could feel beginning to build, "Be kind to him, but do not trust him fully." Frodo warned, "Follow him, but do not be led blindly." 

Sam nodded tearfully, "Yes, Mr. Frodo. Your Sam won't let you down this time." 

"Good," Frodo smiled, "I know you won't, dearest Sam." 

Sam turned away from Frodo with a light squeeze of his master's hand, and went to retrieve Gollum, who had slunk off to the other end of the island of wet earth the three had found refuge on. 

"Smeagol?" Sam asked, for the first time using the name _Smeagol_ rather than Gollum, "My master would like a word with you." 

Gollum turned to face Sam, his bulbous eyes flashing green in the light of evening, "Yes, precious… Smeagol will speak to the Master now." He answered. 

Sam watched in silence as Smeagol slunk over to where his master lay on his back. 

"Smeagol," Frodo whispered, "You must look after Sam once I am gone." He pleaded. 

The creature couldn't ignore the emotion Frodo's eyes held at as he made this request. He'd never been entrusted to care for another before. "Smeagol will do what the Master asks. Smeagol will help hobbitses with whatever they wants us to do." 

"Lead him into Mordor, Smeagol, to Mount Doom." Frodo requested, "And do not lead him astray, promise me Smeagol. Promise you will do this, and that you will be true to your word—as you gave it to me." 

Smeagol nodded, saying, "Yes, precious… Smeagol will do what Master asks!" he said. 

"Good," Frodo's answer was barely a whisper, and it seemed to Gollum then that Frodo became more at ease, more willing to accept what was coming for him. "Now fetch Sam," he requested. 

Sam did not need to be fetched; he was standing within earshot all along, loath to leave his master alone with the creature even now. He knelt quickly by his master's side, taking Frodo's pale hand into his own once more. He felt his master's brow again, noting with concern that his fever had risen higher. "Take some water, sir," Sam offered. 

Frodo shook his head, "No, Sam. Save it, I don't need any. You will need it." 

****** 

For the remainder of the day, Sam kept a silent vigil by Frodo's side. His master spoke occasionally, of happier times, mainly to keep his mind off of the pain. Sam joined in, half-heartedly. He felt guilty, knowing that his master would now never again see those things. Although, he didn't rightly know if he himself would see them again either. 

Gollum sat close at hand, quietly observing the two hobbits: one grieving, the other dying. 

"Sam…" Frodo's voice broke the eerie silence that had befallen the camp an hour earlier. His quiet voice contained a hint of urgency, "Sam, I—again." The last part was little more than a strangled yelp of pain. He groaned weakly as he recognized the building tension as the onset of another attack. "Stay, Sam," he whispered, in spite of himself, "Don't leave me,". Now fear reigned over reason, fear of the pain he was about to endure and fear of leaving Sam alone. Fear of the unknown, fear of death. The muscles in his back and abdomen contracted painfully, the force of the two warring muscle groups nearly breaking him. "Oh!" Frodo cried out, "It… make it stop, Sam. It hurts!" he whimpered, digging his heels into the moist earth beneath him in desperation. 

"Easy, Mr. Frodo, easy, me dear. I'm right here, your Sam's right here." Sam soothed, he could feel Frodo's quick shallow breaths in his hand as he cradled the older hobbits head, stroking one of his master's ashen cheeks gently. He was trying to reassure himself as much as he was his master, knowing all the while that there was nothing he could do. 

Frodo cried out again as his arms and legs seized. He knew he had not the strength to endure this. He took strange comfort in knowing that this would be the last bout he'd have to endure, after this came blessed sleep. Already darkness had begun to limit his vision, and he hadn't even noticed that he wasn't able to draw breath. The toxins had now paralyzed his chest muscles. If he could, he would have clawed at his throat in a frantic attempt to reach air, but his hands and arms were clenched tightly in fits of their own. 

He couldn't hear Sam's frenzied cries. He only saw his friends tear streaked face as a blur, unable to guess what sort desperate pleas he must have been making. His entire body shuddered just as his spine yielded at last to the pressure, snapping like a twig in a windstorm. 

Sam felt his master's body go limp in his arms, and heard the dull crack, as Frodo's back finally yielded, unable to arch further. He was, however, spared the heart-wrenching cry of pain that would have resulted had Frodo's voice not been rendered silent. His vocal cords had seized for the last time, but his eyes contained the pain he felt, and they reflected it more acutely than any words could render. 

Now Sam sat alone with Frodo's body still cradled in his arms, his master's eyes stared up unseeingly, as blue as ever yet at peace once more. He wept long in his grief as he held the cooling body of his beloved master. He knew Frodo had died afraid, and in a great deal of pain. For that he would never forgive himself. Even if he did succeed in reaching the Mountain of Fire, he resolved to throw himself in, with the ring around his neck. 

At last, Gollum approached; gently he laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. 

The hobbit turned around, his eyes red from crying. 

"Master said to go, Master said not to linger." Smeagol said gently. 

Sam nodded; he knew what Frodo had told him to do. How could he now go against his master's last wishes? He must move on. "I know, Smeagol." Sam said, "Mr. Frodo told me to take his belongings an' leave." 

Gently, Sam undid his master's cloak, slipping it off of the mangled body. He unbuttoned Frodo's vest, and then his shirt, carefully slipping the sleeves from the stiff limbs. He managed to remove the mail coat by moving his master's rigid arms, one at a time, and slipping the Mithril coat over Frodo's head, his dark curls still drenched with cold sweat. 

Sam bit back a cry, as his master's form lay exposed; he gently closed Frodo's eyes with his own hands. In the dusky evening light of the Marshes Sam could see Frodo's ivory skin in contrast with the dark earth, his finely featured face framed by a mop of dark curls. He almost looked to be asleep, were it not for the stillness of his chest, and the stiffness of his limbs, Sam would have believed it himself. 

Frodo's body blurred in Sam's vision as another wave of tears washed down the gardener's face. His dearest friend, his master, was dead. No amount of calling his name softly, nor gently shaking him, would wake him up. He was gone forever, forever to sleep in the foul waters of the Marsh. 

Sam reverently laid aside the Mithril shirt and began to put Frodo's blouse and vest back on, and refasten his Lorien cloak. Before he knew what was happening, Gollum pounced upon him, and began strangling him with the chain that held the ring. 

Sam struggled to stand, but Gollum's weight was too much. He collapsed on the floor of the marsh next to Frodo's body, and fought to turn over so he could get a good hold on Gollum's throat. 

Gollum pulled harder on the chain, and Sam could feel it cutting into his throat. He could scarcely breathe, black spots danced in front of his vision. Then Frodo's words returned to him, _"Promise me that you will complete the quest."_ A new surge of strength welled within Sam. He couldn't fail his Frodo; he must succeed. 

His gaze turned then to where Frodo's body lay close by, the hilt of Sting just visible. Sam strained to reach the dagger. His hand was almost on it; he was so close to reaching it. He had just placed his hand on the hilt when a blunt object struck him in the back of the head, and darkness claimed him. 

****************** 

"Sam!" 

The gardener regained consciousness to hear a blessedly familiar voice calling his name. He shook his head, rubbing the back of it where a lump was forming; he looked down ruefully at the rocks strewn about. What had happened? How had he managed to bump his head? Then another thought struck him: Where had Gollum gotten off to? He felt around his neck frantically, the chain was missing. Where was the ring? Then he began to panic. "That stinker!" Sam thought aloud, "He's made off with it, he has!" he pounded his fists angrily into the unyielding earth. 

It was dark; a soft rain had just begun to fall, the wind was picking up. He was no longer in the marshes, but back in the Emyn Muil. "How..." Sam thought aloud, "What's this all about!" He cried to no one in particular. 

"Sam!" came the voice again, interrupting the gardener's thoughts. 

"Mr.—Mr. Frodo?" Sam called disbelievingly, thinking it was surely his ears playing cruel tricks. 

"Help me up!" the voice called again. 

The voice had come from the edge of the cliff he was standing atop. He looked around warily, unsure of what to do. Sam got to his hands and knees and crawled slowly to the edge of the cliff. He noticed for the first time that there was a rope going over the edge, it was secured to a rock, near to where he was standing. 

Sam laid a hand on the rope; it was taut. He crawled to the very edge of the cliff, and peered down into the gathering gloom. His heart all but stopped at the sight his eyes beheld. 

"Mr. …Mr. Frodo!" He cried, louder this time, his entire body felt numb with shock. 

"Yes, Sam?" Frodo answered, his tone somewhat annoyed, "Could you please pull me up!" Frodo called, "I can't hold on, the rain is making this rope dreadfully slippery. I fear I shall fall!" 

THE END 

  
A/N: First, I'll go ahead and tell you what it was that Frodo had, in case you haven't already guessed: it's tetanus. Tetanus frequently begins with a headache, and irritability, and sometimes muscle cramps in the area of the injury. Usually the next thing is sore jaw and neck muscles, hence the name "lockjaw". The _rictus sardonicus_ the creepy "grin" which is caused due to muscle contractions in the person's face. The symptoms become more severe, and it has been known to break bones, as well as backs, as the illness progresses. It is nearly always fatal when untreated, and sometimes even with treatment people still die. Luckily, we have vaccines today to prevent infection.

Due to the nature of Frodo's injury, with the deep wound and bone being exposed after his fall [open compound fracture, resulting from a high fall], and the dirt and grime of the Emyn Muil, I felt that there was a pretty real chance that he could have developed tetanus. Tetanus bacteria develops in soil, or where fertilizer is present. I believe Sam would have recognized the symptoms, as I feel certain that it's not an illness that is alien to the Shire (a farming community, breeding ground for tetanus bacteria). 

About the fic and it's ending:

Basically, the whole fic, after mid-way through the first chapter was a "dream" Sam had after he slipped and hit his head on the rocks atop the cliff. So, as soon as he lowered Frodo over the edge, he had slipped himself and fallen and was knocked unconscious for the remainder of the fic. The fic was his dream—or nightmare, in this case. 

Confusion about events Sam understood in his "dream":

There are some parts that I would probably change, to ensure the credibility of the fic, and that it was a dream on Sam's part. The two major conflicting factors would be:

Gollum The Dead Marshes. 

Gollum: Sam had surely heard Bilbo's adventure stories umpteen times, including vivid descriptions of Gollum. By the first chapter of my fic, Sam and Frodo know they are being followed, and by whom. Sam's imagination put:

The fact that Gollum was following them 

_-and- _

Bilbo's descriptions of Gollum and what he had heard from others (like Gandalf) regarding the name _Smeagol_. 

Combining the two allowed him to create his own "monster" of sorts. :) 

The Dead Marshes: Frodo and Sam could see, and no doubt smell, the Marsh from the Emyn Muil. I left out any details about seeing "dead faces"; because I don't think that's something he could have conjured up without seeing it or hearing talk of it first. 

Anyway, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it; I certainly enjoyed writing it. :) Look for the epilogue to "September" soon. I hope to begin writing it this week. Then that will leave me free to pursue another route of Frodo-angst. :) Perhaps next time I'll do something from "Return of the King".


End file.
